Who Knew
by thisdiva99
Summary: Twelve and his OFC companion Catherine... one-shots galore!
1. Chapter 1

He looked up from the pint of lager that he had no intention of drinking with a face full of confusion. A Time Lord enjoyed Earth music, of course, but never did the Doctor think he would hear a companion sing...and sing well. She was keeping tempo with the toe of a ballet flat, gripping the mic for dear life, belting "Valerie". He'd heard her hum it before in the console room. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and he could see that her eyeliner wasn't quite symmetrical.

He couldn't have cared less.

Her voice was something completely new in this life. It sang low, but shimmered like moondust….actually, exactly like the moondust from Valyria 12.

Most of his kind would have laughed at him for choosing to run with someone so overweight. Most of his kind would have snickered for his choice of jacket. Hell, most of his kind would have doubled over at these eyebrows, but it just did not matter one speck.

He was proud of the way the lining of his jacket shone against the black of his holey jumper. He liked how frowning scared the heart out of people now….and he loved that she kept up with him regardless of her size (he didn't know how). Now she was showing him another of the myriad reasons he had picked her. She was showing him just why his brain had said "Her, you daft twat…..she's the one."

He picked up the glass and sipped because he needed to move his body in some way. Otherwise he'd be likely to run up to the stage and blow her a kiss like some pudding-brained teenager. Running a hand through his staggering gray curls and hitting his shades with it, he pulled the sunglasses off his head and put them in his pocket. His fingers shook.

She had told him that she was meeting a musician friend tonight, and that he may call her up on stage to sing; he had chuckled, never thinking it would actually come to be. Why would Catherine ever go join a band? She was just an overweight, very intelligent human; no surprising talents there.

Her singing voice told him otherwise, and he was "almost" embarrassed.

The song ended and she popped off the small bandstand, winding her way back to the table at which he sat.

"Whoo! That was fun...a bit silly, but fun."

"Cath, why didn't I know you could sing like that?!"

"Oh, Doctor, with all you've seen and done, what would it matter?"

It mattered. Oh it mattered.

It meant the world... perhaps even a system of them. He shook his head, trying to clear it, and put the glass down. If he were his pin-striped, Converse-wearing self, he probably would have jumped up and hugged her tightly as she had come back to the table. But that wasn't him now.

Warring within him was a wave of ridiculous emotion, emotion that he pushed against with all his might. He couldn't do this again; couldn't be hurt again. He needed time and space, ironically enough, from his own loving soul. He was so sick of losing people, of loving them and having to mourn them. He was tired of having to go back to the TARDIS and go through another set of belongings. He had wept over Susan's school books, carefully hung up Ace's bomber jacket, and closed his eyes in agony as he pulled long red hairs off the shoulder of Chin-Boy's tweed jacket. He really couldn't stand clothes now. He hated that he still remembered the way leather felt against a small blonde's denim jacket. He hated that he could smell another doctor's hair pomade on his trench coat. He despised that his bow ties were constant reminders of eggs and milk, and badly-timed soufflés.

The war in his brain kept him sharp. It kept him honest, hard as nails, cold as ice. He didn't know how long he'd need to be like this, but keeping Catherine around wouldn't help him at all. Maybe he should bring her home, wipe her memory a bit. He'd done it before, and now Donna was living an easy life in Cheswick without the weight of the Universe on her shoulders.

Then he looked over at her, his companion. Another never-say-die human who had him in the palm of her hand. Before he could stop himself, he reached a finger over to her face and flicked at her makeup. Now the eyeliner was the same on both eyes. She looked at him in surprise; he hadn't touched her before. Oh sure, he'd thrown her out of the way of an attacking Auton, or grabbed her hand to run down an exploding corridor, but this was the first time he touched her because he wanted to, not because he had to.

He liked it.

It was domestic.

He Fuckity hated domestic.

"What was that for?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing…. You still doing your makeup in the dark? It was crooked. Throws your whole face off."

"Good thing I've a face for radio, then."

"Didn't say that. Just said your makeup's crooked." His R practically rolled right onto the floor; how could she think she was ugly?

"Well, anyway, I think that tune deserves a martini. How 'bout it, Doctor? A bit of a medicinal tonic to keep one festive for the holiday?"

"Nah, got a pint. Don't need anything else." When had his sentences gotten so short? So gruff? Rassilon, this Scot version of himself was in deep now. He couldn't keep his thoughts in order.

"Alright, then. Just one for me, if you please. Bombay Sapphire, dirty and dry, bleu cheese olives." A waiter nodded and the Doctor stared again.

"Am I materializing the TARDIS inside this pub for you? You never drink like that."

"No I don't, but then I also don't nail an Amy Winehouse tune in front of a nay-saying Gallifreyan either. I figure wild circumstances call for a wild cocktail."

"Nay-saying? Who's nay-saying?"

"You, my very dear Doctor. Your mouth said naught, but your eyebrows spoke volumes."

"Yes, well… perhaps it's time I trimmed them then."

Catherine laughed, and it was like a Christmas bell. "Yes, perhaps it is."

"Do you have Christmas plans?"

"Not as such. My parents are going to see my sister in Madrid, and I can't stand the sun. My idea of a sunny holiday is the shoe department at Harrod's. Do you have plans?"

"Well, now that you mention it, I wondered whether we'd ever been to Valyria 12."

END


	2. Where or When?

"Where or When?"

The Doctor could not. He just couldn't.

Domestic was bollocks, and yet here he was singing Christmas carols. On Earth. With a shiny lighted beacon on his embarrassed nose. In the middle of the bleeding 20th century. Catherine looked so delighted, he could have stuck his tongue out at her.

They stood in a hospital in London, on the children's ward, where one of Catherine's many cousins was currently being treated for cancer. Poor little one, she seemed to really seem excited when Catherine walked in. She reached up her skinny arms, and Catherine enveloped her in a loving embrace.

"Alex, love, you look fabulous!"

"Ta, Cathy. I love Doc McStuffins!"

Alex was 7years old, and wearing a hospital gown in the purples of a Doc McStuffins pattern. The Doctor had no idea what in Rassilon's name a Doc McStuffins was, but had a feeling he was about to find out, whether he liked it or not.

"Well, funnily enough, my friend here is a doctor!"

Alex pulled back. "You're not here to change my medications or anything are you? I had my chemo yesterday; don't make me have anymore!"

"No, no Alex, it's alright, love. He's a different kind of doctor."

"Doctor what?"

"Well, we just call him The Doctor. It's kind of like a fancy name."

"Like a rapper?"

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA, yes! Like a rapper, or a singer. He's here to spread cheer with me!"

The Doctor was particularly put out by the laughing Catherine did over Alex's comparing him to a rapper, but he happened to know some of the original rappers of all time. Personally. If Bill Shakespeare wasn't a rapper, no one was, and some of his best lines actually came from their drinking sessions. So, he kind of WAS a rapper. It was time to right this conversation.

"Yes, Alex, they call me the Doctor for all kinds of reasons. But tell me about this Doc McStuffins, please. I think I need to know more." Anything to take the conversation off of him.

"Well, she's right wonderful! Let's see, she has her own tv show and…."

As Alex continued to talk about her tv hero, the Doctor stole a glance at Catherine. She was looking at him in wonderment, and something else. He felt like he might have something on his face. She even leaned in and seemed to inspect him.

"What," he whispered, trying to listen to Alex. Well, half-listen anyway.

"Who are you and what have you done to the Doctor? Entertaining a child's whims?"

"Every child deserves to have their whims entertained, and you're being very rude. SHH!"

By then, Alex had finished explaining Doc McStuffins, and the Doctor clapped his hands together.

"Well, it seems you need some help with your outfit. I think I might have something to help!" He began to go through his never-ending pockets, and located an old otoscope.

"How about this? This seems….. McStuffins-y."

"Oh it's beautiful! Just like hers!"

The Doctor smiled a little as she took the instrument and began to examine her stuffed toy. Catherine sidled even closer to him, and slipped a hand into his.

"You are too good."

"No, I just never throw anything away."

"But really, Doctor, that was so kind."

"Well, don't bring it up ever again. I have a reputation to maintain."

At that moment, a nurse bustled into the room and stopped short.

"Oh! I'm sorry to interrupt your visit, but there's a little merriment happening in the Family Room down the hall. I thought you'd like to come, Alex!"

"What's going on down there?"

"Well, we're going to decorate some cookies, and Father Christmas may even be coming by. But only if we sing really really loudly."

"Oh, perfect! The Doctor here and my cousin Catherine are both singers!"

"Wonderful! They must join us!"

And with a groan of despair, the Doctor found himself singing ridiculous carols. But he also found Catherine's hand had never left his. He was willing to let this one go.

(END)


	3. What Kind of Fool Am I?

"What Kind of Fool Am I?"

Catherine screamed and threw another shirt across the room. What in God's name would she wear to this bloody party? Everything seemed to be too tight or hang wrong. She was getting so frustrated tears formed in her eyes. Should she cancel? The Doctor wouldn't care. He hated this stuff anyway. She tried to calmly walk to the closet and try another dress (for the 4th time), and found herself screaming again. Tears flowed easily down her cheeks.

She knew why this made her so upset. It's because she was fat. Fat fat fat. Her chubby thighs and protruding stomach made her seem the most Happy Little Pear that ever lived. Her arms were flabby and flattened against her as she moved them to and from her body. She had more chins than Jabba the Hut. For Christ's sake, she couldn't even find shoes that fit, the straps and edges all cut into her feet and made them look like she was trying to stuff sausage inside them. That's what she was. Screw the pear; she was the most Happy Little Sausage that ever lived. You have to keep a brave face on, Catherine, she told herself. You have to make sure no one sees how much you hate yourself. You have to make ABSOLUTELY sure the Doctor doesn't find out. He won't put up with a pudding-brained set of notions like those, oh no! She made sure she always kept up in the running side of things, never being overtaken by anything evil chasing them. It always helped that the Doctor insisted on holding her hand when it was time to run.

That's what she wanted to do now: run. She wanted to run from the ridiculous situation she had put herself in. This gala was important because the Doctor had just saved this place from annihilation. They were throwing this whole affair in his honor, and she had to be there with him. She tried to stop crying while she thought of the Doctor. He would wear something easy and effortless on his lanky frame, and she must do the same. She did have an old formal dress from her college days. It might fit. God knows she was fat then too. She sniffled a few more times and got to looking for the old frock.

An hour later, the Doctor was tapping his foot impatiently outside her door.

"You know, they expected us a little while ago. Don't want to seem ungrateful! Are you almost ready?"

Catherine looked in the full-length mirror and thanked whatever gods existed that this dress still fit. Navy blue with a slight sparkle to the bodice, it opened out at the waist and hid a multitude of sins. There was even a matching wrap, as it was sleeveless. She did her makeup as best she could, hiding the tearful streaks from before, and left her hair half-up, half-down, curling the rest. She took one last breath and went to the door.

"Keep your shirt on, I'm here!"

The Doctor almost didn't notice his jaw drop. He quickly closed his mouth, nodded once at what he had to admit was the loveliest he'd ever seen her, and proffered an arm.

"Shall we?"

The gala was held in a palace much like that of 17th century France on Earth. Everything that wasn't marble was gilded, and Catherine nearly squealed.

"It's beautiful!"

The Doctor had to stop himself from saying "Not as beautiful as you", but instead concentrated on looking bored. It's what he was good at. They were quickly separated as the Doctor was pulled to meet some dignitaries, and Catherine wandered to look at the artwork covering the walls. She knew she was just here as the Doctor's guest, and had no responsibilities for the evening. As she continued to wander, she heard nearby conversation:

"Isn't that Doctor person handsome? Those gray curls and such a lithe frame!"

"True. I don't know why he keeps company with that fat little human. She's so round and ugly!"

"Well, I suppose he has a soft spot for all types of being. Humans are so stupid too. I can't imagine why he'd even be interested!"

Catherine's eyes closed and she wished for once that the TARDIS couldn't translate EVERYTHING that was said around her. All the feelings from a few hours ago came rushing back and she did not know where to hide. She forced herself not to cry, but she couldn't stay. She needed to find the Doctor and make some excuse to leave. Forcing her way through the crowd, she found him talking with two men.

"Doctor, I must ask you. Why did you pick such a rotund concubine?"

"A what?!"

"Your companion. Earth beings are so silly, but she is so fat. Couldn't you have found someone more fitting your own frame to couple with?"

She couldn't take it. Bursting out in a sob, she ran from the palace and back to the TARDIS. She would need him to bring her home tonight. She couldn't continue in this way.

A few minutes after she ran into her room and flung her ill-fitting shoes across it, there was a knock at the door.

"Catherine? Are you in there?"

"Go away, Doctor!" she sobbed. "I don't want you to see me like this."

"Catherine, please. Just open the door."

"No! I don't even know why you put up with this human."

"Look, Catherine, either you open the door or I sonic it. It's up to you."

"I have your glasses. You can't sonic anything."

Dammit, she was right.

"Fine, then, I'll break it down. I'm giving you to the count of 3."

Before he could start to count, she cracked the door. She was still in her dress, but makeup marred her face from so much crying. Her lovely curls hung over her shoulder.

"Just let me come in and talk to you."

"Why? Will this silly and rotund concubine bring you any knowledge?"

"Catherine, please. Just let me talk."

She opened the door and let him in. There were dresses and shoes and makeup all over the room. She had worked so hard to look just right, and the demolition of her bedroom showed it. He made a space on the bed to sit, and took off his jacket as he sat.

"Catherine, what you missed when you left was my very pointed speech in which I told them they could all sod off."

"You did? But….they were honoring you."

"I've been honored thousands of times, by beings far better than these. What they said about you was horrible, and they should be ashamed of themselves. I made sure they were before I left without taking any of their baubles or declarations or any of that nonsense. They insulted you, and I won't stand for that."

"You won't? Well, it was apparently the feeling of the room. I heard a bunch of women talking about me before I came to find you. My fat was the talk of the town."

"They are nothing. They mean nothing. And you are lovely."

Catherine gasped. "I am?"

"Catherine, you are absolutely lovely, and I so enjoy our time together. You have a beautiful face and body, just right for you, and I will never let anyone make fun of that."

"I can't believe I'm hearing you say that."

"Well, don't get used to it. I am a grouchy Scottish version of myself. I don't give out compliments lightly or often. Just know that that's what I think."

At that moment, he stood and pulled her to him, rubbing her back and holding her close. He spoke into her hair: "You were treated terribly tonight, and I'm sorry my friend. I will try to make sure to always protect you."

Catherine relaxed into his embrace and wrapped her arms around his frame. She sighed. The night had taken a lot out of her, but this bit of comfort would make her ready for whatever came next.


End file.
